


Aftermath

by FreckleMnemo



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckleMnemo/pseuds/FreckleMnemo
Summary: A game. Three phonecalls. Another game.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 22
Kudos: 247





	Aftermath

  
**MOSCOW 1968**

“как жаль”, _what a pity_ , she quietly commented after the game was over. And it wasn't pure circumstance: she honestly felt a slight sting of sorrow while moving her queen to an unforgiving position. As used as she was to winning, beating the phantom of her first teacher, the one she would forever owe, was as bittersweet as unpleasant.  
The bearded gentleman with the kind, vivacious eyes, was smiling though, his breath as white as his hair, while rearranging the pieces on the board.  
“какая честь”, _what an honour_ , he replied instead.  
_If only you knew_ , she thought while standing and paying respect to all the bystanders. _If only you all knew._

♛ 

Phone call number one.

“Harmon, are you kidding? We’re at the gate. The plane is boarding. I swear I may strangle you if KGB doesn’t get you first.”  
A scoff. “Sorry. I’m still at the hotel. I must have caught a cold, or something.” She thought of Alma, not for the first time that day. That would be their favourite excuse with school, in order to take a plane, compete, profit. Now she was using it not to take off.  
“I don’t mean to skip my presidential meeting, God forbid. Surely you’re influential enough to buy me a couple more days.”  
“You know what? Screw you. I always knew that escorting an ungrateful Communist bitch would do me more harm than good.”  
“Thank you for your service, as always. See you in Washington.”

Phonecall number two.

“When they told me who was calling I thought of a prank. Harmon, that really you?”  
“Sure I am, Townes. Hi.” No matter what, hearing his voice would always send a shiver down her spine, albeit a different one now, one she distinctively placed among her catalogue of feelings. Not the thrill of expectation she would once acknowledge; more of a vague mist of longing for driving on a closed road.  
“Aren’t you on the first available flight home?”  
“There was a change of plans. Still at the hotel. When are you due back?”  
“Mh, don’t make me think of it. I am boarding a Pan Am tonight at 4. Stopover at JFK, then hopefully I’ll be in Louisville at dawn. Christ, I bet jet lag will knock me down for two good days then, but that was the cheapest option, and I’ve already overmilked the newspaper to support you.”  
“Well then, thanks, I’m feeling guilty now.”  
“Don’t, it was worth it. Why did you ask?”  
“Call Pan Am and save me the seat next to you on the New York one. I’ll refund both our tickets. It’s the least I can do.”  
Silence. “Well damn.” More silence. “I’ll make sure we have a chess board handy. Bring the cucumber slices and the pink slippers, ‘cause we’re gonna have a hell of a sleepover, my dear.”  
A loud laughter, a sudden peak of warmth somewhere in her chest. “I’m counting on it.”

Phonecall number three.

“Hey there.”  
“Hey, best of the best.” A pause. “I wasn’t expecting a call. Thought you would be on a plane by now.”  
“Right, no. I ditched the flight back to play with some gentlemen in Sokolniki Park.”  
“Sounds like something you would do. I hope they kicked your ass.”  
“Not quite, but I had a good time, you know. Pure chess.” No politics, just smiles. Wrinkled, some even toothless. The purest. A team, as he himself once told her. She had loved every moment of it.  
“Why are you calling, then?”  
Another pause. “Well, yesterday’s call must have cost you a month’s rent, so I figured I owed you.” Lip bite. “For this and for way more.”  
“Yeah?”  
The teaser, as always. “I miss you, Benny.”  
Check.  
“I realized it when I heard your voice yesterday. I guess that’s something we’re good at telling each other on the phone.”  
Mate.  
“Are you still there?”  
“Why are you calling, Beth?”  
The first time he had asked her to come to New York, she had agreed. Joke’s on him for considering it a huge mistake, and yet something he would never regret. Then he asked twice more, twice she declined, and that’s when he swore not to ask her, ever again.  
Truth was, sometimes fourth time’s the real charm.

♛

“Something’s different.”

Even the dim light of the basement flat seemed perplexed to see her there, well after ten in the evening, just like the first time. Benny locked the door behind him, gaining some time, any second he could. “I got a couch.” Still looking at the keys in his hands. “Some friends were getting rid of it and this place was a bit crowded until this morning, there’s just so much a blow up bed can do. Trust me, getting it through the doorway took some cursing, but it’s there.”  
“Right, well done” she conceded, “but that’s not it.” Then, an epiphany. “You cleaned.”  
They both laughed, and the heavy burden of the unsaid floated, if only for a moment. “I can do it, you know. From time to time.” Even a radio playing on the street outside, a faint, ill-tuned frequence, was making fun of them. “The minute you let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better.” _Paul, just shut up and mind your own fucking business_ , Benny snorted inwardly.

  
She wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t sleepy. No reason to justify any additional small talk, not enough strength for the big one yet, so silence fell again. And they had never been that uncomfortable with silence before, never, but that was because they were building their dialogue on the board, flickering fingers counting as words. Millions of ideas, notions, opinions exchanged just by moving pieces.  
Eventually, he went in that direction, the comfort zone. “Let’s replay the game.”  
Beth dropped her bag, the loud thud in perfect timing.   
_For well you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder._  
“What game?”  
“ _The_ game. The final.”  
“What for?”  
“I’ve got something in mind.”  
She briefly contemplated her other convenient options, only to quickly admit to herself she had none. They sat on those unstable chairs she had built her strategy on a year before, and she diligently followed the script and opened with her pawn D4. He replied fast, and she as well. It took her a split second to remember that he had learnt the entire game while figuring out a way for her to win, debating every single choice with the others.  
A couple minutes later, Benny’s rook captured her pawn to E4, and Beth captured on D6. She wondered if she was allowed to change a move just to see how it would work out in the end, but kept on, unable to muster enough courage to divert, to follow her own trail, maybe a different one. Maybe a better one.  
_Maybe I shouldn’t have done it._  
A few moves more. He was impenetrable.  
_Maybe is a loser’s world._ _  
_ Benny pushed his queen to C6, his other one staring at him. Beth raised a hand and her pawn got to B4, defending the bishop.  
_What are we? Who are we? Have you decided for the both of us yet?_  
And then Benny moved the king to G8.  
_No, that’s not right,_ Beth internally objected. _That’s not what Borgov did. He-_ _  
_ And realization came with relief. Benny had seen the mistake, of course he had. And now he wanted a chance at beating her by not repeating it. And she had fallen for it, like she had fallen for him.  
Well then, if he could, she could too.  
She stood up, reached for the other side of the table. Instinctively, he raised his head and turned his chair: a breach. With a swift, organic movement, she sat on his lap facing him, her legs on his sides.  
Too much of a shift, too brutal of an unbalance. He froze on the spot.  
“Don’t,” - a breath - “Don’t, if you plan on leaving.”  
“What if you’re leaving with me?”  
“Leaving or living?”  
“It’s up to you, really.” She untied the knot which held together her burgundy wrap dress. “Move.”  
  
  
  
For years they had been so casually consumed by the act of pushing lovers away, pulling them aside. Only to push and pull into each other, for what felt like years, still fully clothed, still moving pieces on the board.  
  
When she came, he won.

**Author's Note:**

> My native language is Italian, please forgive any mistake I couldn't spot. I tried to build a similar pace to the tv series. Thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed it, any feedback is more than welcome!


End file.
